


Saving The Snake

by lumione_xox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bullying, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/M, Self-Harm, Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26231848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumione_xox/pseuds/lumione_xox
Summary: "They’ll tell you being injured on the battlefield is noble. They’ll tell you war is glorious. They’ll tell you fighting for your country is the utmost of importance, but Hermione knew differently."Hermione and Draco have never gotten along. Probably due to the fact that Draco Malfoy holds 'pure-blood' supremacist ideals and Hermione Granger happens to fall into the category of 'non pure-blood'. But what happens when they're partnered together for a project?This is the story of the lion saving the snake.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

————

“Seeing as none of you have shown that you’re capable enough to brew me such a simple potion,”

He paused, 

“I have reached the conclusion that I have not been setting enough work,” 

He started, earning a collective groan from the wide eyed and bushy haired students in front of him. NEWT level potions was hard enough but add a certain Slytherin professor into the mix? The class went from hard to impossible. Especially for a certain Hermione Granger. The infamous golden trio member would be lying if she said she hadn’t considered dropping the class like most of her fellow housemates. They’d assured her that none of them would think any less of her, but this wasn’t about them. It was about her. Not only was she the last Gryffindor, but she was also one of only two girls. Hell, she’d managed to survive a basilisk and Dolores Umbridge. There was no way she was going to let a room full of petty Slytherins bring her down. Well, at least that’s what she told herself after a few heavy crying sessions which may or may not have been caused by said Slytherins. 

“I will be expecting 4 foot of parchment explaining ‘Practical Applications of Polycjuice Potions’ in one week,” 

Disbelief was evident on all of their faces. Pansy Parkinson, the only one brave enough to say what they were all thinking, leapt out of her seat.

“You’ve got to be joking, Sir! Our NEWTS are coming up, and- and we already have 3 other assignments you-“ 

He raised a hand to silence her.

“Ms. Parkinson, if you’re unable to complete a report on the practical applications of a simple potion, you’re unfit to be undertaking my NEWT’s. However, I’m not completely cruel. You may complete the task within a pair,” before anyone could partner up he hastily added, “a pair of my choosing that is,” 

A defeated sigh escaped most lips, however nobody complained because everyone understood he probably did think he was paying them a great kindness. Dread began to well in the pit of Hermione’s hollow stomach. Her eyes flitted across the classroom, but she couldn’t find a single person who she believed she could actually collaborate with. Well, collaborate with without having to be on the receiving end of pureblood supremacist comments anyway. Snape silently flicked his wand, and motioned to their tables. A single piece of parchment appeared above her desk, as soft as a snowflake. With trembling hands she unfolded it. ‘Fuck. No, no, no, no, no!’ The messily scrawled words stared back at her as if challenging her. Only two words really. She willed herself to meet his gaze which she could feel boring into her back. When she met his eyes, whatever hope she had dissipated. Ghee, if looks could kill. She wasn’t just met with his glare, but his friends’ too. All of them, staring at her as if this was her fault. Many obscene retorts trickled into her head, but she finally decided that that immature behaviour didn’t dignify a response. 

————

The rest of class passed by in a blur, but Hermione couldn’t concentrate. Eventually, she gathered her books before quickly realising she was the last person in the dungeon. Her potions class was odd in the fact that it occurred at night. She just put it up to Snape being… well Snape. She vividly remembered that conversation actually. 

“Professor, why is this class the only class taught at nighttime?”

“Are you questioning my teaching methods Ms. Granger?”

“No, but-“

“Then enough.”

Generally she despised the idea of brewing potions in the moonlight, however tonight she was grateful for the silence which accompanied the late hours. Her bushy-haired head bobbed along the stretching hallways before halting. Voices floated out from around the corner. The same corner which had been vandalised in her second year. Normally, Hermione would’ve continued on her path and excused herself for interrupting. But then again, when was anything normal for Hermione Granger? Ducking behind the stone cold pillar, she began eavesdropping (or rather overhearing as she would later on tell Harry).

“-but her?! You and I both know I could complete that assignment twice as fast and three times better than her. More importantly, she’s one of them!” 

Anger roiled through her, threatening to bubble to the surface. She’d know that slimy ferret’s voice anywhere. Hermione was almost certain she knew who’s gravelly voice would grace her eardrums next, but she still uselessly clung onto hope that she was wrong. However, Hermione Granger was not dubbed the brightest witch of her age for frequently being wrong. 

“Enough Draco! I’ve told you my opinion on this subject. If you cannot cope with completing a potions task with a snotty know-it-all Gryffindor, than you are unfit to bear the dark mark! Now, get back to your commons now. I will not repeat myself Malfoy.” 

His phrasing sounded strangely familiar to her but never mind that. She didn’t realise she was crying until she had to wipe damp curls out of her face. ‘Damnit, Hermione!’ She internally scolded herself. This would be the seventh time that boy has made her cry. He was also the first. The funny thing is, she’d always thought that the first boy to make her cry would be some romantic Romeo leaving her to go face some gallant quest, not a spoilt pure-blood calling her a name. Her feet slapped against the harsh stone all the way up to the girl’s bathrooms. She hadn’t even realised she’d arrived until she heard a crisp voice behind her.

“Naw, poor little Granger, which Slytherin was it this time? The pug-faced one? Ooh, or was it the two chubby ones?” 

Hermione had to suppress an eye roll. 

“Go away, Myrtle.' Her head was reeling, not just from the insults (many of which she’d heard before) but the fact that it was true. The rumours were true. Malfoy was going to receive the mark. It was despicable. He was only 16. A mere boy! The freezing marble bit into her skin beneath her. Sobs racked her whole body, not the girly romantic sobs that you see in Disney movies, no. The ugly, loud, sniffling kind of sobs. It’s true that she was the brightest witch of her age, and she was the brains of the golden trio, but sometimes… sometimes it got too much for her. Though she’d flatly deny it if ever asked, sometimes when it was too hard, when it all got too much, she’d draw pictures. Not the conventional type of pictures, but pictures nonetheless. They weren’t pretty like most drawings she’d seen. They were ugly. Extremely so, but they made her feel better at least. 

They’ll tell you being injured on the battlefield is noble. They’ll tell you war is glorious. They’ll tell you fighting for your country is the utmost of importance, but Hermione knew differently. 

This had to stop. Shakily, she got to her feet. The resemblance between her in that moment and a baby deer was uncanny, both unsteady and innocent. But those were too things Hermione was not. This had to change. He had to change. When they look back and try to pinpoint when it happened, that would be it. That was the moment the lion decided to save the snake.

————


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "She guessed my favourite colour first try but i didn't even have a favourite colour until she she yelled out 'yellow'."

————

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” 

“What, Malfoy? What’s your issue now?”

She seethed, her teeth grinding. They’d only been in the dimly lit library for less than an hour but she already felt exhausted. Talking to him was like trying to converse with a brick wall, she thought idly. 

“My issue,”

He spat,

“Is that you’re so blatantly wrong, but what's worse is that you dont see it!” He hissed, trying to stay at a whisper. They’d already been warned twice about being too loud in the library. Though Madame Pince was only 5’3”, she was a little terrifying. When Hermione was in second year she vaguely remembered her transfiguring a student for shouting. Or maybe that was just a weird dream of hers. 

“Fine, Malfoy. You and I both know you could complete this assignment twice as fast, and three times better than me. So how about, you do it Malfoy,” 

She stated calmly. Victory. She watched his face transform from confusion, to understanding, to anger. His jaw popped open, but only for a second, before he snapped it shut again. She could practically hear his thoughts. ‘How in the hell did she know about that?’ Her eyes flicked over to the fast approaching form, and she grimaced.

“Get out of my library!” 

They didn’t need to be told twice. 

“I expected better of you Ms. Granger,”   
Her shoulder collided with his as she pushed past him, heading straight for the door. Usually she loathed moaning myrtle but what she wouldn’t give in that moment to be sitting in the bathroom, listening to the condescension of a ghost. Instead, she was greeted with the floor. 

“Shit, ‘Mione?” 

A familiar voice muttered. 

“Oh god, Hermione did I hurt you?”

’Great, just what I need right now,’.

She internally cursed whatever gods were out there. Couldn’t she just catch a break? 

“No, you didn’t Harry,” 

She sighed exasperatedly. He reached down a hand, pulling her back to her feet.

“I’d prefer it if you not run into me next-” 

Before he could continue, she pulled him into a bone crushing hug. He smelt like wood fires and broom wax. 

“I’ve missed you too,” 

He chuckled into the ever-growing nest that she called hair. 

“Get a room, Mudblood!” 

Hermione felt Harry tense. Hesitantly, she let go of Harry. Harry muttered something unintelligible under his breath, but Hermione placed a hand on his chest to silence him.

“If I throw a stick, will you leave?” 

Parkinson sneered. Hermione often sympathised with Parkinson. The girl wasn’t outwardly insecure, but Hermione doubted that anyone would be happy with her pug-like appearance.

“Fuck off, slut,” 

She growled. Hermione had to stifle a laugh. Honestly, she didn’t understand how anyone found her even a little bit intimidating. She was about as scary as a Labrador. Not that she’d know what that is, ’Pure-bloods’ she thought.

“Pansy, I think you’d do well to remember that a sharp tongue is no indication of a keen mind,”   
Hermione knew she was poking the bear, but she didn’t really care anymore. A grin quickly spread across her face when guffaws erupted from the brunette next to her. Turning on her heel she stalked off down the hallway, a bespectacled Gryffindor in tow. 

————

“Shut up, Draco!” 

Pansy shrieked, her pitch challenging that of a dog whistle. Draco had made the deadly mistake of laughing. Once he realised his mistake he tried to cover it up with a few coughs but Parkinson wasn’t as dense as she looked; then again she did look pretty dense. She’d been at him for a few weeks now. ‘Draco! You’re not listening to me,’ ‘Draco, you’re not even looking at me,’ ‘Draco! I said get my pink bag not my red one!’ ‘Draco-‘ He was surprised he hadn’t blown up at her yet. He’s been tolerating her, mainly for his mother’s sake. It was just before the Christmas holidays when his mother mentioned it for the first time.

“Draco, dear, I’ve been having tea with Lady Parkinson recently. She’s so lovely. Have you met her daughter?” 

‘Obviously,’ he wanted to say, ‘I go to school with her mother. She makes me want to claw my eyes out,’. Instead, he continued to stir his tea. The juxtaposition was a little overwhelming. He never did understand why their ‘tea-room’ was so large and regal when it was only ever him and his mother (or more recently Lady Parkinson). 

“I’ve seen her around at school,”

“Oh, perfect! We were thinking we shall all go out to that quaint little French restaurant next time you’re home.”

The Parkinson in question's whining broke him (or rather forcibly dragged him) from his reverie. This had to stop. He was strained enough as it was with his NEWT’s, his parents, and the inner circle all pressuring him. 

“Pansy! I don’t care! Go bully some Hufflepuffs or paint your nails or something. I dont care, seriously just leave me alone!” 

He didn’t feel the least bit guilty when the hurt flashed across her face. She let out a ‘hmph’, before scurrying off. As she retreated a strange thought crossed his mind. ‘Granger’s the first person to make me laugh since…’ pushing the thought from his head, he started for the room of requirement. 

————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou for reading bb :-)

**Author's Note:**

> All characters/setting/etc. belong to JK Rowling. :-)


End file.
